


Better Company

by ClaraxBarton



Series: Kinktober2019 [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Biting, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Foursome, Kate Bishop the best bro, M/M, Multi, Sub Clint Barton, Teacher!Clint, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 14:47:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20931971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: Clint is so very, very far out of his depth, because he's looking at not one, not two, but THREE gorgeous people and for some reason they are looking back at him.





	Better Company

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madrefiero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madrefiero/gifts).

> So the prompt was biting and like....

* * *

* * *

“Which one?” Clint asked.

He held two shirts up, still on hangers - kind of remarkable that he had  _ any _ shirts on hangers, and he was definitely thanking Past Clint for being so depressed or so drunk that he actually put laundry away properly - and turned to face Kate.

Kate, who was sprawled on his bed, face practically glued to her phone, completely uninterested in Clint or his wardrobe.

“That one,” she said without looking up or indicating  _ either _ shirt in any way.

Clint kicked the bed, and she finally looked away from her phone and scowled up at him.

“Dude.”

He glared. 

She glared back.

“Kate, I  _ need your help _ .”

Clint didn’t have a lot of dignity - kind of came with the territory of being a colossal fuckup - so it wasn’t that it cost him a lot to admit that he needed help, but it sure as hell cost him something to ask for it. He’d spent his entire life getting shit on and told no and shoved aside. He  _ knew _ he wasn’t worth other people’s time.

So picking up the phone to call Kate and ask for her help in the first place had been… a thing. That Clint had done. And that he now had feelings about having done.

Kate rolled her eyes at him.

“Dude, it doesn’t matter. You’re meeting up with them to get fucked, not go out for a night on the town. Pick whichever shirt you can take off the quickest so you can show them your killer abs.”

Clint wasn’t mollified at all.

“Kate- Kate, we’re meeting at a bar? We’re- This whole thing is for them to see if they even  _ want _ me. And-”

She snorted.

“Trust me, they’re gonna want you. If they like hot dudes, they’re gonna want you. And you  _ said _ they wanted a submissive guy who liked getting railed, right? Baby, that’s you.”

Clint kicked the bed again, half to cover up his blush because she was  _ right _ he was a submissive dude, and half because… because he was a belligerent baby and he was anxious and so very, very out of his depth here.

“Kate, I showed you their photos - they could be with  _ anyone _ and-”

“And they picked you because you’re better than anyone else.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

“Learned from the best, Barton.”

“Ugh, fuck off. Why are we friends?”

“Because we’re both addicted to taking care of strays and no one else in the goddamn world appreciates pizza as much as we do.”

“Amen to that,” he muttered as he considered the shirt options again.

“Seriously, Clint, it doesn’t matter which shirt you wear.”

“It  _ does _ ,” he insisted. “I want- I need to look good. I need-”

“Clint, it. Does. Not. Matter. Which. Shirt. You. Wear. You look good in anything, even your stupid Weasley sweater.”

“It is  _ not _ a Weasley sweater, I-”

“Made that with your own two hands, yes, I know, and it looks like it. All I’m saying is, only  _ you _ could make that particular shade of weird tomato not look revolting. Whatever you wear, I guarantee they will want to rip it off you.”

As much as Clint appreciated it - even if he didn’t entirely believe her - Clint needed more than just Kate’s carte blanche assurance that he could wear whatever.

And she finally seemed to get it.

“The blue button-up. Brings out your eyes. Leave the top two buttons open and roll your sleeves up so they can see your forearms. That’s like… NSFW quality porn.”

Clint followed her directions, and then moved in front of the mirror to check himself out.

She was right. The shirt looked decent, even if it was tight around his forearms and-

“Fuck, what pants should I wear?”

Kate groaned and buried her face in Lucky’s fur.

“Your black jeans, the ones with the-”

“I ripped them last week,” he admitted, looking away from her scowling expression in the mirror and back to his own reflection. He wondered if his black briefs were okay, wondered if he should go with boxer briefs or… go commando?

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Kate, but, really, even she had limits.

“The tight light wash ones?” she tried.

“Uh…”

“Jesus fuck, Clint. Stop wearing your nice jeans when you go out to play superhero.”

“I’m not  _ playing _ superhero,” Clint growled. 

“Whatever, Batman wannabe. How’d you ruin the black jeans?”

“Look, it wasn’t-”

“Your fault, yeah, yeah. Were you chasing down a mugger, or saving an old lady from a fire?”

He glared at her.

She glared back.

Clint sighed.

“Some kids lost their ball at the park, and I climbed through the, you know, woods shit to get it for them and ripped my jeans.”

“Oh my  _ god _ , Clint,” Kate groaned dramatically. “And how did the other jeans die?”

“Mugger,” he confirmed, staring down at the floor.

“Clint, I love you so fucking much,” she sighed, and rolled off of the bed and walked over to his closet and started to rifle through it.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and crossed his arms over his chest, knowing he was pathetic, knowing-

“I’m taking you shopping for my birthday,” Kate said, ignoring his apology. “Your closet physically pains me, Clint.”

“Kate-”

“Here. These make your ass look great. Well, everything makes your ass look great.”

She tossed a pair of dark blue jeans at him - ones that  _ she _ had bought him a year ago - that he thought were kind of too tight, but tried to remember to wear whenever they planned to go out together because, after all, she had gotten them for him.

“Oh,” she added a snap of her fingers and pointed at him, “lose the briefs. You all aren’t, like, going  _ out _ \- you’re just meeting in the hotel bar, right? So let ‘em have easier access to the goods.”

She winked at him, and Clint blushed  _ again _ .

But he pushed down his briefs and pulled on the jeans, and let Kate push him down onto the bed and do something to his hair, despite the fact that nothing  _ ever _ made his hair look good, and half an hour later he let her push him out of his own apartment and kiss him on the mouth.

“Have fun, be safe and get fucked!” she shouted before slamming the door in his face.

Clint turned to see old Mr. Ramirez standing down the hall - his granddaughter, Alicia, at his side.

He offered an apologetic smile and edged past them before fleeing down the stairs.

He took an Uber, because with his luck he’d end up taking the subway and have the train break down or a tunnel collapse, or anything awful, really. 

Plus, he was going to The Peninsula Hotel, on Fifth Avenue, and if Clint wasn’t already on-edge and feeling completely out of his league about this entire thing, that location would certainly do it.

Clint had strolled down Fifth Avenue approximately  _ never _ \- crossing it on foot a few times to get to the Park, but never, ever actually taking the time to do more than glare his way through crosswalks because the entire damn Avenue just wasn’t a place people like Clint - who struggled to make ends meet by teaching middle school math and coaching the school archery team, and also teaching archery classes at a local gym because  _ rent _ \- should ever feel at home around.

So this, meeting up with strangers at a swanky as all-hell rooftop bar at a swanky as all-hell hotel for, if he was very, very lucky, some earth-shattering sex… This was about as far out of Clint’s comfort zone as it was physically possible for him to get.

He fully expected to be kicked out of the  _ lobby _ of the hotel when he walked in, but instead, he was greeted very formally by the very formal doorman, then the concierge, then directed to the elevator reserved for the Salon de Ning bar and- 

And Clint could do this, right?

He stared at himself in the very polished, very gold walls of the elevator and tried not to focus on all the things about himself that just… were not good enough.

Which left him wondering just how frequently the walls of the elevator got buffed, because they were incredibly clean and shiny and- 

And then he was on the rooftop, entering the bar and swallowed by all of the glass and light and swirl of music and muted conversation, and holy shit, Clint did  _ not _ belong here.

A dark-haired woman dressed entirely in black greeted Clint.

“Good evening, sir, do you have a reservation?”

“I, uh, I’m meeting some people here?” Clint scratched at the back of his head. It sounded like a lie. Hell, people probably tried to come in here all of the time using that same line and-

“Do you have the party’s name?” she asked.

“Um, Barnes?”

She smiled, not even consulting a list or anything.

“Of course. They’ve been expecting you.”

It was probably innocent, her smile, her  _ they’ve been expecting you _ , but Clint… Clint blushed again.

“I, uh, good?”

She continued to smile, and gestured for him to follow her before walking away and towards the glass doors that led outside.

It was  _ almost _ too cold to be comfortable out there for long, Clint imagined. But the wind wasn’t too strong, and there was a scattering of brave souls watching twilight become full darkness over Manhattan.

The woman led Clint to the back of the terrace, to a long, tan couch under a red umbrella, and Clint almost tripped over his own two feel because holy  _ fuck _ .

Photos had not done them justice.

The three of them filled out the couch, lounging against each other comfortably, sensually, as if they didn’t care that they were in public, didn’t care if anyone saw their easy, open intimacy, and it made Clint… feel something, that was for sure.

Barnes, James Barnes -  _ call me Bucky _ , he’d told Clint via text - was seated between the two red-haired women, his legs crossed casually and both arms around their shoulders.

He was… intimidatingly handsome. His face was all sharp lines and stubbled jaw and flashing eyes and plump lips. His dark hair was loose around his shoulders - not quite long enough to rest there, but the ends curling close and moving in the slight breeze. The black sweater and black trousers he wore looked molded to his lean, muscled body and Clint was so.Out. Of. His. League.

One of the redheads had short, curling hair that framed her angular face and dark, full lips in an incredibly enticing way. She was also dressed in black, some kind of dress with a neckline that plunged to her navel and a full, long skirt that allowed her to curl up on the couch and lean against Bucky’s right side while reaching over him to feed a stemmed cherry to the other redhead.

She had longer, lighter hair, the color of copper under sunlight, and  _ her _ black attired consisted of a black blouse and pants that made her look almost fragile.

They were, individually and collectively, breathtaking.

The host put her hand on Clint’s shoulder, still smiling, and gave him a nudge towards them.

Clint sucked in a breath, feeling betrayed and so not ready for this, but then three sets of eyes were on him and yep.

Yep, here he was, doing this thing.

He lifted his hand, about to wave before he realized  _ how fucking stupid _ that was.

The long haired woman -  _ Wanda, like the fish _ \- laughed. It wasn’t cutting or cruel, however, and it warmed something in Clint, made him take the extra steps forwards until he was close enough to sit on the backless bench next to the couch.

The other woman -  _ Natasha, don’t you dare make any jokes about Boris _ \- gave Clint a smirk that could only be described as predatory.

After two weeks in a group chat with the three of them, Clint felt as though he simultaneously knew them and didn’t know them at all.

Natasha peppered the chat with memes throughout the days and nights and asked questions that Clint was positive were designed to make him feel embarrassed and aroused. Bucky kept popping up with links to podcast episodes on topics ranging from space to presidents to diseases - while also asking serious questions about Clint’s limits and experience. Wanda usually shared photos and videos of dogs and cats, and it had gotten to the point that Clint and Wanda were in an almost a competition to see who could find the cutest thing to share, but she didn’t ask Clint any questions about sex, didn’t try to provoke him or interrogate him, just… shared cute things.

“Clint,” Natasha all but purred as she sat up straight. “It’s so good to finally meet you.”

He swallowed hard, tried to smile and knew it probably came off looking more like a grimace.

They had tried to do this last weekend, but Bucky had been called away unexpectedly on business.

“Yeah. Same. It’s… it’s really good to meet all of you,” he said.

Bucky smirked, Wanda smiled and Natasha laughed.

“Would you like a drink?” Natasha asked.

Clint thought about it, thought it might be best to be as clear headed as possible going into… this. But then again, one drink would really, really help take the edge off.

He nodded and Natasha did something, some tilt of her head, that summoned a waiter from out of thin air it felt like.

The waiter looked at Clint expectantly. 

Clint had no idea what to order.

Bucky had a glass of red wine, Natasha a rocks glass filled with amber liquid, and Wanda a tall, thin glass of something clear.

“He’ll have a Negroni,” Wanda ordered for Clint.

The waiter nodded and walked away.

Clint offered Wanda a small, grateful smile and she returned it.

He’d never actually had a Negroni, and hadn’t seen a menu or anything, so who knew what it was but… Wanda was nice. Wanda was good. 

“Only one drink, though,” Bucky said, removing his arm from around Natasha to pick up his glass of wine and drink from it. “We want you able to consent.”

Wanda was beautiful, but she wasn’t as terrifyingly sexy as either Bucky or Natasha.

“Right. Yeah. i - if you’re sure.”

Bucky arched an eyebrow, but it was, once again, Natasha who took the conversational lead.

“Oh, we are quite sure, Clint. But are you?”

“Well, yeah, I’d be an idiot not to, you know…” Clint gestured at the three of them.

Natasha leaned against Bucky again.

“Not to ‘you know’ what?” she asked.

And there he went, blushing again.

“Not to want you three, to want to be with you.”

“Hm.” Natasha hummed and Clint had the completely inappropriate - appropriate? - thought that her mouth would look amazing around his cock.

“And if anything gets to be too much?” Wanda prompted. “If we do something you don’t like, or ask you to do something you don’t want?”

“Red or yellow and we talk about it,” Clint said. They’d been over this already, several times, had traded safewords but agreed that, with as many people as this in motion, the traffic light system was probably a better choice. 

“And if you want something?” Bucky asked, holding Clint’s gaze until Clint had to remind himself to breathe.

“I ask and remember to say please and thank you,” Clint supplied.

“Good boy,” Natasha complimented him, smiling, and Clint felt something in him settle, felt as if a weight was lifted from his shoulders.

“I think you’ll be very good for us, won’t you, Clint?” Wanda spoke up again.

“Yeah. I - I’m gonna try.”

The waiter appeared with Clint’s drink and deposited it on the low table between Clint and the couch. The liquid was dark red, almost the same color as Natasha’s hair, and the rim was garnished with an orange peel.

Clint took a cautious sip. It was, surprisingly, pretty damn good.

He smiled at Wanda and she smiled back, clearly pleased that he appreciated her choice.

“I forgot to ask,” Bucky drawled, “how do you feel about marks?”

Clint looked up from his drink and his gaze was riveted to Bucky’s mouth, to the way the man’s teeth sank into his own lower lip. And Clint really,  _ really _ needed to feel Bucky’s teeth on him. Wanted Bucky biting him and sucking marks into his skin and - 

“I’m so good, I love marks. Mark me up,” Clint assured him.

Bucky laughed, Natasha smirked, and Wanda arched against Bucky, the tilt of her neck revealing a shadow against her collarbone that… was definitely a hickey.

“And how do you feel about marking  _ us _ up?” She asked him.

“Please?”

“I think,” Natasha said, “that we are going to enjoy you very much, Clint.”

* * *

* * *

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> The thing is, I had to take an hour long phone call in the middle of writing this and now it's nearly midnight and like... yeah, I kind of desperately want to circle back and write the second chapter of this, okay?
> 
> But at least they TALK about biting????


End file.
